


Bruised Faces and Broken Hearts

by Banoffee_Macdonald



Category: Casualty (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Domestic Violence, F/M, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Original Character(s), Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banoffee_Macdonald/pseuds/Banoffee_Macdonald
Summary: When his ex-wife starts working in the ED again Dylan tries his best to ignore her. However, he soon can't help but notice that there's something going on in her life. Her face is forever covered in bruises and her lively spark has long since disappeared. Could Sam be hiding a much darker secret than she's letting on?TWs for Domestic violence and R*pe
Relationships: Dylan Keogh/Sam Nicholls, Tom Kent/Sam Nicholls
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1- The Secret

CHAPTER ONE- The Secret

His punch hit her face with such force she thought it would break her jaw. It sent her flying backwards into the wall, her already sore wrist scraping down the edge of the table as she fell. Slumping down on the floor she lent her head against the wall, trying to hold back her tears. 

Crying would just make it worse, make him worse. 

The ringing in her head grew louder along with his screams. She closed her eyes, wishing that this would all stop. All she wanted was for this hell to stop. 

-

Her Face. It was the first thing he noticed when she slipped into the ED. Even with the buzz of the department surrounding him, she stood out like a sore thumb. The bruise stretched across the left side of her face; from her eye to her cheek. Her eye was slightly swollen and the skin was coloured a blackish purple. 

Dylan felt his heart fall. That was the third time this month she’d come into work with her face all beaten and bruised. When he had last asked her about it she had brushed it off, simply blaming it on a MMA training exercise gone wrong. 

He had believed her then, he knew from back when they were married just how badly hurt Sam could get from MMA training, but slowly he was starting to think differently. Even with Sam being as reckless as she was he doubted that she could get injured three times in one month from training.

There was something different about her, something missing. 

As she moved through the department she didn't have the normal enthusiasm for her job that she did. She wasn’t leaping at the chance to play the hero nor throwing herself into the dangerous call outs she so desperately loved. 

In a way her face matched the rest of her. She looked broken.

Quickly gathering up the paperwork that he was filling in, he rushed after her. Even if it turned out to be nothing more than another sporting injury Dylan felt that he should at least check if she was okay. Though there was a small part of him that had a feeling it wouldn’t be so simple. 

He approached her in the staff room from behind. She was reading through the latest copy of the lancet, she had most likely found it thrown carelessly on a table somewhere. Though her eyes were looking at the pages he could tell that she wasn’t taking any information in, her mind otherwise occupied.

“Samantha?”

At the sound of her name she jumped violently. Her eyes shot wide with fear in a way that Dylan had never seen before. Something was definitely wrong.

“Are you okay?”

Sam didn't budge, instead she remained frozen still and staring right at him.

“Sam,” he repeated in a softer voice, “What happened to your face?”

Her hand shot up to her face in what he could only assume to be a futile attempt to hide it.

“Oh umm, I got kicked in the face during training.”

“That’s three times in a row now, and that’s three times in a row in the span of one month.”

Sam moved her gaze towards the ground.

“Well my reflexes just aren’t what they used to be,” she laughed feebly, “I guess that’s something that just comes with age.”

Dylan scoffed, “You’re not that old Sam, you’re only 32.”

She didn’t reply to him, only diverting her gaze even further from him. He stood for a while waiting but when it was clear she wasn’t going to reply he reached to turn her back to face him. His fingers had barely brushed the skin of her wrist when she jolted backwards and out of his grasp. 

“Why do you care so much?” she asked as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. 

“Because I-“ 

He was interrupted by Connie appearing at the staff room door. 

“Dr Keogh we have a motorway RTC coming in; three casualties with two in a critical condition. I need you in RESUS straight away.”

He turned back to Sam. “Sorry, I need to go. Can we talk later?”

Sam nodded slightly. He hesitated before leaving Sam standing awkwardly in the staff room. 

As Dylan walked towards RESUS he wished that he had got to the bottom of things properly. He had a nagging feeling that the longer he left it, the more he suspected that something bad would happen to Sam. 

-

She watched him leave in a hurry, wishing she had found the courage to tell him. He was definitely suspicious. She could read his emotions better than anyone. The buzz of her phone pulled her out of her own thoughts. Absentmindedly, she reached into her pocket. The screen flashed bright with a notification. Her mood fell even further when she read the sender’s name.

As she read through the message tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. It was a harsh reminder of the hell her life had become and the man who was making it so.

-

Sam pulled her blanket snug around her. Even though the flat was warm she was still shivering, or was it shaking. She sat curled up on the sofa trying to brace herself for the onslaught of shouting she was certain would follow once he came home. 

They’d been back together for four months now. He’d tracked her down to Holby somehow, even after all the effort she had gone to make sure that he wouldn't be able to. No one had been told where she was going, with most not being told she was even moving in the first place. He had appeared at her doorstep late one night, all disheveled and messed up looking, begging for her to give him another chance. She knew she shouldn’t have let him back into her life. It was common knowledge that people like him never change but she was so desperate to be loved that in the end she couldn’t help herself. 

Why was she so willing to put herself through hell, face the devil himself, in exchange for pitiful examples of love. She didn’t know. 

The clatter of keys in the door sent fear slicing through her body. He was back. The door crashed open loudly. Moments later heavy footsteps and the strong smell of booze flooded the small flat. 

“Samantha?” 

She didn’t answer. There had been a time when she’d loved hearing her full name, when someone who had meant so much to her, still meant so much to her, had used it as a way of showing his affection. But things had changed. Now she hated it. It reminded her too much of the terror and pain that would always follow it.

“SAMANTHA!” 

He bellowed angrily, the effects of his nightly drinking session having worsened his already fiery temper. 

“Yes,” she answered her voice barely louder than a whisper, “I’m in here.” The longer she ignored him, the worse he would get. She wished she could avoid him for eternity but that was impossible. Sighing, she mentally prepared herself for the night ahead. 

He stumbled into the room bringing the stifling smell of his evening’s drinking session with him. His once neat hair now lay messy and ruffled. His clothes were no longer perfectly kept with the same shirt and trousers having been worn for a couple of days. Stubble was messily growing around his mouth. No one at Holby would ever have guessed that this was what had become of the once brilliant doctor Tom Kent. 

His eyes were as sharp as knives, completely void of any sense of compassion. These cold eyes stared daggers into her, cutting straight through to her core with fear. He stumbled over to her seat on the sofa and stopped right in front of her. Tom just stood there, saying nothing and making no movements. After a few minutes of this, Sam took this opportunity to try to leave. She was tired from the busy day at work and didn’t have the energy to deal with him.

“It’s getting late now,” she mumbled whilst stretching upwards and faking her best yawn, “I better get to bed. I’ve got to be up bright and early for my shift tomorrow.” 

When Tom made no effort to reply Sam took this as her chance. She swiftly moved off the sofa and was nearly out of the door when a hand tightly grabbed her wrist. His nails dug deep into her skin as he pulled her back to face him. The smell of his breath choked her as he lent in close to her face. 

“Just where do you think you’re going,” he spoke with his voice filled with venom. 

Sam didn’t look up at him and instead squirmed in his grip, hoping to break free. When Tom picked up on this he only held on to her tighter. She gasped out in pain as his nails broke through the skin on her wrists. His foot flew into her calf making her eyes water as she collapsed forward. 

“I SAID JUST WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING!” He screamed in her face. 

“To bed,” she mumbled through the tears, “I start work early.”

She moved her gaze up from the floor but still couldn’t find the courage to look him in the eye. Even so, she could sense his temper rising. 

“To bed?” he spoke mockingly, “You want to go to bed? Fine, let’s go.”

He turned and marched towards the bedroom, dragging Sam behind him. The nature of Tom’s intentions dawned on her. Waves of anxiety and fear drowned Sam. She desperately needed to get away now. She pulled at his grip, screaming and kicking, trying to fight him off but her attempts fell short. 

He threw her backwards onto the bed, the force of her hitting the mattress trapping her breath in her throat. She desperately gasped for breath but the crippling fear that was taking over her made it almost impossible. Tom pushed on her shoulders, holding her down on the bed as he clambered on top of her. 

He looked her up and down, taking in every inch of her, like a predator would to its next meal. Silent tears began to run down Sam’s face as his hands snaked their way under her clothes. There was no way to escape.


	2. Chapter 2- Pieces Of The Puzzle

CHAPTER TWO- Pieces of the Puzzle

TWs for Domestic violence and r*pe

-

She huddled her knees close to her chest. Closing her eyes didn’t help. She could still feel his hands on her body, smell the stench of alcohol on his breath and hear him muttering lies about love in her ear. She scrunched her eyes shut tighter as tears threatened to spill, her whole body convulsing with a mixture of fear and disgust. Fear of him; fear of what he had done to her and fear of what he could still do. And disgust, disgust at herself for letting it happen. Eventually, she slowed her breathing and worked up the courage to reopen her eyes, praying that it had all been some horrific nightmare. It hadn’t.

His sleeping form still occupied the other side of the bed. The silence in the room contrasted heavily with the screams that had filled it only hours before.

Silently, she slipped out of bed. With every step, she prayed that the floor wouldn’t creak or something wouldn’t knock onto the floor and wake Tom. 

The bathroom floor was icy cold as she entered it. She quickly locked the door before placing her mobile on the windowsill. Taking a deep breath, she mentally prepared herself for what she was about to see. 

Seeing her reflection in the mirror instantly made the tears fall again. 

-

Dylan yawned as he read over his patient notes. He’d had very little sleep, having spent most of the night worrying about Sam. He was torn about what to do. Should he ask her again and risk her losing it at him for being an interfering git? Or should he leave it in the hopes that she was telling the truth? But what if he was right and by leaving it he was putting her in more danger? He sighed. This was messy. 

The clatter of trolley wheels alerted him that a new patient had been brought in. Reassuring the man in front of him that he’d be back shortly, he placed the notes back on the end of the bed.

“Right then, what have we got?” 

He turned to the paramedics and made direct eye contact with Sam. Whilst Iain introduced the patient and began to explain their situation Dylan quickly tried to get a look at Sam. Her face looked okay, maybe even a bit better than it had been yesterday. There was still something off about her but maybe he should have believed her. Just as he was about to push his worries to the back of his mind he noticed that her skin was shimmering in the light. 

Sam was wearing makeup. Her face wasn’t better, in fact, he would most definitely bet that underneath it was worse. Dylan knew something was definitely wrong now. She had always made it clear that she hated makeup, stating that it was too much of a girly thing for her tomboyish nature. 

“...And Sam’s got her stuff”

Iain motioned towards Sam who silently presented Dylan with a clear plastic bag filled with personal belongings. He took it from her with a slight smile as acknowledgement. As her hand let go of the bag her sleeve brushed the trolley, pushing it up her wrist. Dylan’s eyes fixed onto the clear marks on her pale skin that looked like they were made by someone grabbing her wrist with too much force. Once he had the bag Iain and Sam left having finished their handover. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. He needed to talk to Sam now.

“Dr Masum,” Dylan beckoned the new F1 doctor over, “I want you to start assessing Miss Grayson and when I get back I want to hear your thoughts and ideas for a diagnosis.” 

With Rash ready to get to work and the patient looking content he took this as his chance and sped over to Sam sorting out the trolley before she left CDU. As he approached her she looked up and gave him a slight exhausted-looking smile.

“Shouldn’t you be treating Sophie Grayson?” Sam queried and she was technically right. This, however, was more important in his eyes.

“Oh right, the new doctor is treating her meaning I have a chance to have a fifteen minute break for once,” Dylan started, “So I thought I could check up on you, you know, carry on from yesterday.” This seemed to catch Sam slightly by surprise as she immediately stared right at him. “How are you?”

“Oh I’m fine,” she answers, suddenly putting on a fake cheery voice. “For one thing my face is feeling better, the bruise is almost gone and it barely hurts.” She smiled over at him, seemingly hoping to fool him, but Dylan could see right through her. 

He looked at her with a disapproving look as if to say ‘really Sam?’

She threw her hands up in a mock defence and laughed lightly. “Really Dylan, I’m fine.”

“Then what happened to your wrist?”

Her expression changed instantly to one filled with anxiety. Sensing her fear, Dylan uncharacteristically softened his voice. 

“Hey Sam, it’s okay.”

It didn’t work. She stepped back, shaking her head with her hands up to stop him coming near her. 

“I… uh… I need to go find Iain,” she said, stumbling over her words, “We’ll need to… need to sort the ambulance out before… uh… we get another shout.”

She quickly gathered everything together and sped off leaving Dylan with even more worries than before. 

-

“I’ll go start restocking the ambulance whilst you get the coffee,” Iain called out as he left the staff base in the ambulance station. Sam watched him closely. Only once he was engrossed in his task did she slip her tube of foundation out of her pocket. 

The bruises and scratches reached all up her arm as she rolled up her jacket sleeves. Taking it off would have been more practical but she wasn’t going to risk anyone walking in on her without having a fast way to cover her arms. She hurriedly squirted the foundation onto her damaged skin, wincing slightly as it stung her open cuts. She rubbed at it until it covered her skin in an even layer and hid the evidence of Tom’s abuse from the night before. She examined her arms making sure no spot was left uncovered, she couldn’t have anyone noticing. 

-

The winter air nipped at his hands as he left the ED. Grumbling to himself about the cold he stuffed his hands further into his pockets. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could warm up beside his heater with a cup of coffee and puzzle over what to do about Sam. 

Loud shouts of festive glee made Dylan look towards a group of young students most likely off to enjoy their night. He watched them for a moment before being drawn to a figure standing a few metres behind them. 

They had crumpled clothes and greasy hair which was paired with a sour expression plastered on their face. The sight of such a person made Dylan grimace. They reminded him too much of the horrible sorts of people that lived in the Belfast estate where he grew up; people whose lives revolved around alcohol, drugs, violence and crime. 

Wanting to get away from them as quickly as possible, he hurried around the corner and tried to focus on anything other than them. 

It didn’t work. 

The sight of that figure played on Dylan’s mind, something telling him that he should recognise them. Did he know them? He swiftly turned back, hoping to get a better look at them. Surely he’d never properly met that person, especially not in Holby?

Dylan stopped when he again turned the corner. He was out of luck. They were gone. 

-

Back at his boat, Dylan paced the living area restlessly. That hair, those clothes, that stance. He was now sure that he’d met that person before. They had most likely been not as rugged but nonetheless, he was sure. He knew them. 

He wracked through memories from both the times he’d lived in Holby, sure that the man had worked with him at some point. 

A man with tousled brown hair? A casual style of clothes that always looked somehow professional and relaxed at once? A stance that always seemed to make them more confident than others?

Tom? It couldn’t be Tom Kent?

Dylan sighed wearily as memories of his interactions with the younger registrar resurfaced. He grimaced as he remembered the jealousy that had overtaken him as he’d watched Sam fall for another man. Not that it had lasted. If he remembered rightly he’d heard an offhand comment from Robyn about how Tom and Sam were divorced. That would mean that they had gone their separate ways and so would eliminate Tom from being the person he’d seen. Wouldn’t it?

He made a cup of coffee whilst memories of the past still played in his head. Was there anyone else from Holby who matched the appearance of the figure?

He had just finished his coffee when the events of a shift back in December 2012 came back to him. 

He’d been walking out of CDU when a scene in the staff room had caught his eye. Tom was arguing loudly with the Locum doctor Dominic. Dylan expected that they wouldn’t get along. After all, by the sounds of their past, there were many reasons for both men to hate each other. Though what he hadn’t expected was for Tom to suddenly erupt with rage and punch Dominic full-on in the face. He’d been stunned, he hadn’t thought that Tom would be that violent. 

The mug in his hand fell to the floor with a clang as Dylan jumped up instantly. The figure’s sour expression matched the one from his memory perfectly. The puzzle in his mind all suddenly came together. 

Tom had a temper he couldn’t always control. Tom was prone to violence. Tom was back in Holby. 

Sam. 

It made him feel physically sick at the thought of it. 

Tom had been waiting for Sam. 

He could have been wrong but it all added up.

The bruises, the fear, the reluctance to engage, the partner refusing to let them be alone. They were the key pointers of domestic abuse. How had he missed it? In his time in emergency medicine, he had probably dealt with hundreds of cases of abuse, had to spot it in the hardest of circumstances, and yet when it had really mattered he hadn’t. He had missed it when it had been someone he cared about most.

His mind raced at 100 miles per hour as he tried to decide what to do next. Whatever he decided, he needed to be able to do it fast. Sam was most likely in grave danger. 

The Phone. He should phone the police.

He practically sprinted to his mobile, almost tripping over Dervla in the process. He had barely grasped it when he was already frantically tapping in the numbers.

“Hello, what service do you require?”

With his mind racing, Dylan found it hard to get his words out. 

“Right... um… I need to talk to the.. uh.. the police”

“Okay,” replied the woman and a click sounded through the phone as his call was connected to the police.

-

“We’ll send out someone to look into it further as soon as we can.”

“Thank you,” Dylan sighed before the call disconnected. He slumped back down into his chair and rested his head in his hands. 

All there was to do was wait. 

-

They were sitting silently on the sofa, the atmosphere so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Sam was nursing what she suspected was a sprained wrist whilst Tom watched her like a hawk. 

The silence was disrupted when the doorbell rang. She looked up to see Tom groan before dragging himself out of his seat to answer it. Moments later she could hear a conversation start between the person at the door and Tom. Tom’s voice was lighthearted and charming, one of his many tactics of fooling other people, Sam knew too well that it was all a facade.

“Is your girlfriend in, Samantha?”

Sam froze as this caught her off guard. And by the lack of any reply, it had done the same to Tom. There were a couple more mumbles of conversation before Tom called for her to come to the door.

Realising that all her bruises and scratches were on full show, she quickly pulled on her loose hoodie and checked that the makeup on her face was still there.

She approached the door to find Tom standing next to a police officer, the glare in his eyes telling her to not give anything away. The woman turned to her with a smile.

“You must be Samantha then? I’m officer Avril Huntley, I just need to ask you a few questions.” 

Sam tried to put on her best smile, “Yeah I am but Sam is just fine.”

Officer Huntley nodded before something seemed to catch her eye. Sam could feel herself squirming under her gaze.

“How did you get that bruise on your neck Sam?” 

She’d forgotten to cover her neck. Sam began to panic, knowing that the police officer would begin to suspect the worse if she couldn’t find a plausible explanation and quickly. 

“She got it during her MMA.”

Tom butted in and Sam internally gave out a sigh of relief. MMA, his perfect excuse. It wasn’t exactly lying, she did train and compete in the sport but it had been a good year and a half since then. He continued to talk and Sam could see Officer Huntley’s mood change.

“I was asking Sam,” she spoke sternly, “so would you please let her talk.”

This statement rubbed Tom up the wrong way and he glared back at her. Officer Huntley ignored this and turned her attention back to Sam.

“Well, can you tell me what happened to your neck?”

“I got it during a fight at my MMA competition last weekend.”

Sam knew what Tom would do if she didn’t follow him. Even with a police officer there, he would find a way to talk them into believing him, he always did. There was no point even trying to tell the truth. All she could do was play along.

“Yeah, it was a vicious fight. I was up against this girl from Newcastle. Brilliant fighter and she had a mean punch which sent me flying, as you can see. Won the competition though.”

“Oh,” this seemed to take officer Huntley by surprise, “You did? Well, congratulations on your victory.”

“Thanks.” Sam gave another fake smile. “You can come in and see the trophy if you like?”

“No it’s fine, I’m sorry for disturbing you, there must have been some confusion.”

“Why’s that?” questioned Tom, his expression still subtly sour.

“Oh,” began officer Huntley, “Someone had reported a possible case of domestic violence, most likely they saw Sam’s bruise and assumed the worst, so we just had to check. Obviously, there’s been a mix-up.”

Tom slipped his hand around Sam’s, an attempt to give off the appearance that they were a happy couple.

“Well at least we know we have caring neighbours.”

They all laughed slightly before Officer Huntley left. 

Tom locked the door and slipped the key into his pocket. He’d taken Sam’s own key weeks ago so she couldn’t leave without him knowing. She followed him silently back into the living room. He sensed her presence and turned to face her, his expression ice cold. 

It suddenly dawned on her- what if Tom thought she had called the police or asked someone to do it for her? Her anxiety began to rise and she braced herself for another onslaught of shouting and violence. 

He moved closer causing Sam to tense up. The violence never came. Instead, he dug his hand into her pocket and yanked out her phone. He glared up at her before shoving it into his own pocket. 

It was only once he had stormed off to the bedroom with a bottle of alcohol that Sam attempted to relax. It didn’t work.

She curled up on the sofa with her mind and body hurting. Her bruises would hurt at the slightest of bumps and her muscles ached from being held down and grabbed at. These injuries acted as a constant reminder to herself of what had happened the night before and many times before that

It still disgusted her. Even worse, She disgusted herself. 

The battle of thoughts in her head became louder once again. How had she let him do that? She should have fought back, been more tactical and escaped. Only weak people would have failed to get out. Only weak people would let people hurt them in that way. She felt horrible. She felt weak. She felt disgusting. 

She curled herself up further into a ball, wrapping her arms around herself and cried.  
-

The ring of his phone jerked him out of his thoughts. He’d been anxiously waiting to hear about Sam for over 2 hours. He hoped that she’d be safe now. 

“Hello,” he started as soon as he’d answered the call. 

“Hi, I’m Avril Huntley, the police officer who went out to check on your suspicions about a case of domestic abuse.”

“Is she okay, have you arrested him?” Dylan spoke quickly, eager to know that Sam was safe. “More importantly have you managed to get Sam somewhere safe?”

“Sir when I arrived I talked to both Mr Kent and Miss Nicholls. And from the information that they both provided the suspicions that you had were found to be false.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“We found no evidence to prove that your suspicions were correct.”

“But what about her bruises? Her face and arms are covered in them!” Dylan half-shouted down the phone, his anger taking over. How could the police have not spotted the signs that he had?

“She told me that she got those bruises from her MMA competition. The explanation she gave was very sufficient and I believe her.”

“So that’s all you’re going to do then?” He couldn’t believe this, “Even if you do believe her shouldn’t you look into it further?”

The woman on the phone retained her collected manner. “I’m sorry but we can only look into this more if we have further evidence that points towards the claims you are making.”

“Oh for god’s sake!” Dylan shouted down the phone, “You idiots are meant to keep people safe!” He ended the call abruptly and in a fit of rage threw his phone across the room. 

What was he to do now? The police had turned out to be useless and he sure as hell was not going to just brush it aside as they had. 

He leant back against the wall, staring at photos from his past whilst he tried to regain his composure. 

Sam. In these photos she was happy and full of life; the reckless woman he had fallen for and still cared deeply about. He needed to help her, but how. 

It was then that someone in an older photo caught his eye and hope began to return. 

Yes, she would know what to do. 

A quick glance at his watch told him that she would just be finishing her shift. He rushed over to retrieve his phone. 

-

Belfast, Northern Ireland (Dec 2017)

She unlocked her locker wearily, the events of the day having taken their toll on her. Only a couple more months and she’d be retiring. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her job, she loved it in fact, but 12 hour shifts on Belfast’s biggest maternity ward when you were 63 was definitely getting just a little too tiring. Especially when you were the most senior midwife on said ward. 

The metal door opened and out fell a couple of loose faded photographs that have been stuck up inside. She smiled, looking at the photo of her with three little ginger-haired children with fond memories. She quietly laughed as she realised just how young she looked in it. How she had managed to get to where she was after having three babies as a teenager she would never know. Truth be told, she hadn’t been as young as some of the mothers she had cared for on the ward over the years but even then the majority of them managed perfectly. 

She swapped the photos around and looked at the other one. This one was more recent, well, if you could count the mid 2000’s as recent, and featured the same people as the one before. 

She was sitting out in her garden on a summer’s day with the three children who were now grown adults. Graham was sitting to her left, looking sulkily away from the camera like always. He really hated having his photo taken and she was almost certain that the only photos she had of him actually looking into a camera were from his wedding day. On her right sat a madly grinning girl called Layla. Her bright green Belfast Queen’s University hoodie contrasted greatly with her hair and she had sunglasses perched precariously on her head. Her eyes moved to the youngest in the photo. He was sitting awkwardly next to his sister; sporting the same hoodie but in a much more subtle blue. 

It was then that the magnet, previously used to pin up the photos, lying on the floor caught her eye. As she reached down to pick it up the sudden ring of her mobile to her by surprise. 

Her head knocked against the hard metal door. She groaned in pain as she rummaged through her locker to find her phone. She glanced at the caller’s name and was taken aback to see that name. He barely ever called. Confused but nonetheless grateful for the spontaneous call, she clicked the answer button whilst rubbing the sore spot on her head. 

“Hello Dylan,” she said with a smile, “To what do I owe the pleasure for this time.”


	3. Chapter 3- Need You To Help

CHAPTER THREE- Need You To Help

TWs for domestic violence and r*pe

-

Holby, England (Dec 2017)

Madilyn Keogh sighed wearily as she walked into the hospital complex. It had been late last night that she had received a phone call from her youngest son, desperately pleading for her to come to Holby and help him. 

During the call, she had been heartbroken to hear how bad of a state her former daughter in law was in. She had never quite understood what had happened between Dylan and Sam, she had a feeling that another man had been involved but that didn’t matter. If Dylan said that Sam needed her then she would move hell on earth to help. In her line of work, she’d treated many mothers who had suffered at the hands of their partners. She herself even knew firsthand what it was like. No one should have to endure the hell that abuse created.

She entered the reception area of the emergency department and approached the desk. The man behind it had his back to her but soon noticed her waiting.

“Hello. Welcome to Holby City Emergency Department, how may I help you today?”

“Hello, my name is Madilyn Keogh and I’m here to see my son Dylan.”

The man whom according to his name badge was called Noel nodded and turned to a porter, asking them to catch Doctor Keogh and tell him to come to reception. She thanked Noel and sat down in the waiting area. 

After a couple of minutes Dylan appeared next to the reception desk. She gave him a warm smile as she approached him which, as usual, he didn’t repay. His attention seemed to be split and she soon noticed that they seemed to be the centre of many of his colleagues’ attention. 

“My break just started,” Dylan started, unable to relax whilst he was being watched by so many. “Maybe we could go talk in the staff room?”

“I think that would be a good idea.”

He started towards the main department area and she followed. The many eyes of those watching them moved as they did. 

“Are you sure that’s his mother?”

“Well, that’s what Max said anyways.”

“Are you sure he’s right? I mean, she looks pretty young for that.”

“I don’t think he’d make that up.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him if I’m honest.”

Two young women, one ginger and one with shorter and darker hair, were sitting at a workstation in the middle of the department, watching her and Dylan intensely as they walked to the staff room. Madilyn chuckled to herself. If one thing was the same in every hospital, whether it be in Ireland or England, it was that gossip spread like wildfire. 

The staff room was luckily empty and now out of the watch of his colleagues, Dylan instantly relaxed. He busied himself with making coffee and Madilyn settled herself on one of the worn sofas.

“So how bad is it?” She took a mug of steamy coffee in her hands as Dylan sat down opposite her.

Dylan shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know but it is bad. She’s scared, jumpy and too quiet for Sam. There’s definitely something she’s hiding and her explanations don’t add up, I think she’s quite aware that they don’t.” He looked down at his mug, clearly hurting at the thought of Sam suffering.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

Dylan looked up in confusion, having been pulled from his thoughts.

“Well, you obviously asked me here to help so what’s your plan Dylan?”

“Talk to her,” he said, “I know that I’ve tried but maybe she’ll listen to you. You might know what to say to her better than I would, given the circumstances.”

She nodded in agreement. “Very well. When does your shift end then?”

“Six, though I’ll probably end up running over as usual.” He glanced down at his watch, “and talking of running over, my break finished two minutes ago.” 

He quickly gulped down the last of his coffee before adjusting his stethoscope and heading for the door. Before he left he turned to his mother one last time. 

“You don’t mind waiting do you?”

“It’ll only be a couple of hours, go.” He gave her a small smile before disappearing into the department. She brought her book out of her bag. Taking another sip of her coffee, she settled down for a quiet afternoon. 

-

She leaned heavily on the wheelchair as she moved it back to its place in the corridor. She was tired; both physically and mentally. The constant need to be on edge was taking its toll on her, and it was all the fault of one person. 

Tom had walked her to work that day and had informed her that he'd be there when she came off shift. There was no freedom. He was becoming more and more paranoid as the days went by. In his mind, he was convinced she was cheating on him and would be damned if she went anywhere without him. 

He already hated her going to work without him there watching her. Tom had been forced to quit working in the medical profession two years ago, just before the consultant had fired him for his excessive drinking. On one hand it had given her a tiny bit of safety, being able to be alone at work, but on the other, with no job to occupy him, Tom had fallen further into his destructive habits. 

She just wanted it to stop. She wanted to feel safe, to be loved by someone who truly meant it. 

She reached up to the chain that sat hidden under her clothes and rubbed the ring that it held. It was a reminder to her of a past when she'd been happy, when the man who told her he loved her truly meant it. When the man whom she loved wouldn’t hurt her or make promises that never came to be. She’d told Tom it was her mother’s wedding ring, he'd only have let her keep it that way, but it wasn't. 

Dylan. 

Why couldn't she tell him? She used to be able to tell him everything. Under the cover of darkness he’d hold her close in their bed and they’d exchange their deepest secrets. There had never been a time, even in their darkest of days, that she’d never felt she couldn’t go to him. 

Maybe it was because so much had changed. Maybe it was because she’d hurt him, pushed him away, made him feel like she was replacing him. The hurt in his eyes had been evident when he’d told her he was leaving as the first snow of 2012 had fallen around them. She didn't deserve to have him care after all that. 

But somehow he still did, and she honestly couldn’t understand why. Deep down she just wanted to run to him. He had and would always be her safe harbour but she just couldn’t risk it. 

Tears started to brim in her eyes, another display of the sheer amount of hurt that had consumed her. Her feet instantly brought her to the staff room; somewhere quiet, somewhere away from people. 

Sam fell backwards against the lockers as her tears finally fell. She was tired of hiding, but it was all she could do. 

-

Madilyn’s attention was drawn from her book by the noise of someone entering the staff room. It was Sam. She didn’t notice that she wasn’t alone and instead collapsed against the lockers in tears. Carefully Madilyn made her way over to Sam who was shaking from her tears and gently spoke to her. 

“Oh my Sam, are you okay?”

On realising that she was in fact not alone, Sam stared at her ex mother-in-law like a deer caught in headlights before trying to hastily make her way to the door. Madilyn swiftly took her hand and instead guided her over to the sofa.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

Sam shook her head. She began to rub her eyes with the back of her hand until Madilyn handed her a tissue. They sat in silence, the only sound being the occasional sniffle from Sam desperately trying to get her emotions under control, until Madilyn felt that Sam was calm enough for a conversation. 

“Now then, you look a bit better now.” 

Sam’s tears were nearly all gone, her eyes were no longer fearful and she was now just anxiously watching Madilyn as she spoke. 

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, I don’t think you’ve ever seen me out of Ireland if I’m honest.”

Again, Sam shook her head. “You’re here for Dylan.”

“Yes, I am. He asked me to come here to help him with something.”

Sam gave out a small, yet still tearful laugh, “Dylan needs help with something?”

“I know, you wouldn’t expect someone as independent as him to ask for help, would you?” Pausing for a moment she considered how to word what she needed to say. It was very likely that she’d only have one shot at it if she wanted to persuade Sam to listen.

“He’s worried about someone, he thinks that they’re in a dangerous situation and need help to sort it out. He’s already tried to help them himself but he’s at a dead end as to what to do now. In his eyes, I might be able to help this person.”

Madilyn, on seeing that she had Sam’s attention, decided to go for it.

“To them their situation probably feels impossible, being hurt by someone who should love you is soul crushing and can make you feel trapped. Asking for help becomes unspeakable but it is truthfully the best thing you can do. Once you tell someone you don’t have to fight it alone, trust me I know.”

Sam scoffed at her defensively, “And tell me, what would you really know about that?”

Madilyn, unfazed by Sam’s outburst, simply turned to face her. 

“Because I was that person once.” She watched as this caught Sam’s attention. “I was once that person who wouldn’t ask for help. I was scared of what would happen if I did in case they found out.” 

Sam didn’t react. For a moment they sat in silence before Madilyn spoke again. 

“Have you ever met Dylan’s father?”

Sam shook her head and Madilyn smiled ever so slightly. 

“Well, I’m glad of that. I wouldn’t want you to anyways.”

Sam’s words were barely a whisper but they caught Madilyn off guard. The painful memories that she had repressed for years flooded back for vengeance. 

“What did he do?”

-

Belfast, Northern Ireland (1981)

Her face stung and her eyes watered as his hand flew into her chest. The sheer force of the pain sent her stumbling backwards, tripping over her own feet as she tried to regain her balance. 

He roared loudly, making her wince as the shrill noise rang through her ears. 

“YOU UTTER BITCH”

Within seconds of getting up he was on her again. The endless shouts of abuse were coupled with countless punches and scratches. She could feel her face swelling and there was definitely some blood trickling down from her nose. 

She didn’t try to run, she couldn’t leave them alone with this monster, so instead she stood there as her husband hit her. The man who was meant to love her, meant to cherish and care for her. She sometimes wondered how it had come to this. How had the outgoing, charming boy from England that she had fallen so desperately for turned out to be such a monster?

She braced herself for more punches but they didn’t come.

The bang of the door signalled that he’d grown tired of the beatings and had most likely left to find more alcohol.

She stood up using the wall for support, wincing as pain shot up her body. Her reflection in the mirror was a sorry sight. Her eye would definitely be bruised by tomorrow, the swelling already making it harder to see. 

She bent down to pick up her glasses which were miraculously not broken. She delicately placed them back on her face, hoping they wouldn’t bother her injuries too much, when she finally saw shadows at the door. 

She mustered her best smile, “How long have you been standing there for?”

They didn’t answer. They didn’t need to, she already knew. 

They’d been there the whole time. 

-

She sighed, pushing her glasses up onto her to rub her eyes. It had been nearly three decades since then but the feelings of fear, pain and guilt had never lessened. After taking a deep breath, she composed herself and returned to Sam who was just staring back at her. 

“He used to hurt me; punching, hitting, making me carry out demands I didn’t want. He belittled me and made me believe I was worthless. That I would only ever be something with him.”

“What made you realise that it was wrong?”

“I think I always knew but I was scared of what would happen if I tried to get away. That’s how they do it. They trap you in a vicious cycle of fear so that you’ll be too scared to even try to leave. That was the hardest part, leaving, but once I did everything got better.”

Madilyn realised that Sam was no longer looking her way and was fidgeting with her staff card. She reached over and put her hand on Sam’s arm, hoping to relax her slightly.

“Once I told someone, they helped me to get somewhere safe and sort everything out. It may seem like the entire world is telling you no but listen to what you want. You can get help, if you want it then it will always be there, you just need to ask.” She gave Sam a soft smile. Maybe she would finally feel safe enough to talk.

Sam continued to fidget but after a few moments she finally spoke. 

“I think…” Sam mumbled, “I think I need you to…”

Sam was interrupted by a noise and they both turned to see a figure approach the staffroom doorway.

“Hey Sam, they need you for a moment before you go home. Something about paperwork, I think.”

Sam’s eyes darted between Madilyn and the person as if, to the older woman, she was checking that it was okay to go.

Madilyn patted her arm gently. “You go sort out that paperwork before it gets too messy, I know what that’s like. Once you’re finished I’ll still be here so we can finish talking.” Sam stood up and looked at her one last time before she reluctantly left with the man.

Madilyn sat back onto the sofa. They were close, she was sure of it. Had they had a couple of minutes longer she was sure that Sam would have confirmed Dylan’s suspicions.

There was something off about that man. Even though he wasn’t in some form of work clothes, which in itself was odd to her, he didn’t look like the professional people who usually worked in a hospital. If someone that scruffy had turned up to work in her department in that state they would be in for a good old fashioned dressing down. 

That look. The way Sam had turned to her was stuck in her mind. She jumped up and practically ran out into the department past Dylan and into the ambulance bay. 

Her eyes shot around as she desperately tried to see her. Her attempt was in vain, they’d already gone. Dylan appeared at her side, confusion etched on his face as he watched his mother panic. 

She felt so stupid. 

Sam had needed her help then. 

That was him. That was Sam’s abuser. 

-

His nails cut into her wrists as he dragged her home with her struggling against him. The threats he’d made scared her into obeying him, knowing all too well what fighting back could lead to. 

They arrived back at her flat and he threw her through the doorway. Her feet stumbled around beneath her as Tom slammed the door behind them. 

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU,” he roared in her face as she fought the urge to cry, “NO TALKING TO ANYONE OR ELSE YOU WON’T GET TO GO ANYWHERE ALONE.”

Sam stared down at the floor, wishing that she’d finished telling Madilyn and that she could help her. 

“Who was that anyway, and what did you tell them?” She didn’t reply and wrapped her arms around herself in a feeble attempt for comfort. 

“TELL ME!” He thumped his fist against the wall. Sam winced at the sound as her tears grew ever closer to falling. She snuck a look at Tom’s face. He seemed to be trying to figure something out. His anger seeped out of every voice as he muttered under his breath. 

“Ginger hair, glasses, Irish… Ginger hair, glasses…”

He stormed over to the bookshelf, pulling out Sam’s old photo album. His hands fumbled through the pages, his temper making small movements hard. He froze on a page and his anger visibly deepened. Not giving a damn about Sam’s book, he tore the page out and let the book clatter to the floor. He thrust the photo into Sam’s hands and reluctantly she looked at it, knowing too well what it showed. 

Christmas Day 2009. She was sat cross legged in front of a cosy fireplace with a small grey puppy curled up at her feet. Madilyn was leaning into the photograph from the armchair nearby with Graham, Layla and their families crouched around her. Dylan was sat over next to Sam. 

“Dylan.” Tom spat out his name mockingly. “Did you really think that running to your precious Dylan would help? I know you’re stupid Sam but really, what makes you think he cares?”

Her heart fell at the sound of Tom mocking Dylan. She held the now crumpled photograph closer to her, trying to block out Tom with the happy memories. 

“And why should he anyways, you made his life a misery.” 

She looked up in shock and fear at Tom’s words. 

“That’s why he always drank so much, wasn’t it? You were so unbearable that he had no choice but to drink to put up with you!”

Sam’s arms fell limp at her sides, the photo drifting to the ground. Maybe, maybe he was right. Dylan hadn’t drank as much before he had met her. It was only after they married that his drinking worsened. Whenever she came back from an army training week or a tour Afghanistan he would always be in a mood with her and sometimes barely acknowledge her presence. 

She felt Tom come closer and to pull her into his arms but all she could focus on was Dylan. 

Tom was right. How could he care? She’d cheated on him in some stupid attempt to get him to love her. What had she been thinking?

Tom’s hands slipped under her shirt and rubbed soothing circles on her bare back. She let him lead her to their bedroom all the while realising that maybe he was right. 

Her affair, their divorce, forcing him to watch her with Tom. No person could care for someone after they put them through that. 

Tom’s movements next to her caught her attention. She had been so wrapped up in his words that she hadn’t noticed what was happening. 

He was standing shirtless with his belt and trousers undone. 

Before she could move he was on her, ripping off her shirt and throwing her onto the bed. He used his weight to restrain her by sitting on her legs as one hand held her hands down and the other removed her remaining clothes. No matter how much she thrashed against him and begged for him to stop he ignored her. 

“JUST SHUT UP AND LIE STILL!”

His fist flew into her face and pain seared through her head. Her limbs grew weak as her body struggled to stay awake let alone fight back. 

His breath sent cold shivers down her spine as he whispered in her ear, causing her tears to trickle down her face with the blood from her nose. She could feel his hands in places she hated them being but she had no way of moving them away. Once again she was here, with Tom using her for his own pleasure. 

“Nobody can love you.”

She winced in pain as he forced his way inside her. 

“Nobody but me.”

-

It was the pain that hit her first. 

Then the realisation. 

It had happened again.

Her breath was all broken. She gasped for air but still felt like she was suffocating. She could still feel his arms snaking their way around her, the throbbing in her head from where he’d knocked her out, and the worst one of all, the pain of him forcing his way into her. Her own body revolted her. 

Her hand knocked against his and her stomach twisted violently. She slid down onto the floor, not wanting to be anywhere near the man who had taken everything from her. 

Pieces of her clothes lay strewn across the floor from when he had ripped them off her body. The cold air nipped at her naked body acting as another reminder of the horrific thing that had happened to her. She pulled her shirt towards her needing something, anything, to cover herself with. 

She crept into the sitting room in search of some more clothes from the washing, not wanting to risk waking Tom by looking in their room. As she pulled on some joggers her foot knocked against a piece of paper on the floor, it was the photograph. 

Madilyn. 

Sam remembered her talk with ex mother-in-law from earlier that day. She just needed to get away. Even if Tom had been right, even if Dylan didn’t care, someone would.

She needed to find help. 

She slipped her boots and hoodie on in near silence before carefully working her way towards the door. The shine of the keys in the door sent a spark of hope through her still fuzzy mind, Tom had left the keys in the door. 

Her movements were tiny. She only dared to grasp and turn the keys in small bursts out of fear. 

The door creaked as she slowly opened it. Light from the landing window contrasted against the darkness of her flat. The daylight gave her hope as she started to make her way towards the stairs.

She was so close, but it wasn’t over yet. 

Her body was pulled backwards as he grabbed her waist. How had he heard her? Why couldn’t she have been quicker, if she’d left a few minutes earlier she would have been out in the streets with somewhere to hide and people to help her. She would have been safe. 

She resisted against his hold, trying to break his arms apart and make a run for it. He grabbed at her arm and twisted it behind her back, muffling her mouth with his other hand. 

“You can’t escape me, you're mine and always will be mine. You Samantha Nicholls, are a weak, scared, useless waste of space.”

“Just get away.” She could hear Madilyn’s words from earlier echoing in her mind, encouraging her to not give up. “You’re not weak, you can do this.”

“No.” Her voice came out muffled and barely audible. 

Tom snarled down at her. “What did you say?”

“NO I’M NOT!” 

It took everything she had but she knew she was close to freedom. She was Sam Nicholls. She had fought in Afghanistan, seen some of the worst humanity had to offer. She wasn’t the one who was weak, that was Tom. He relied on making others weak to feel strong. She was strong herself and she just needed to fight for a little longer. 

She mustered her last ounce of energy and thrust her leg back hard, right into his balls. He stumbled back, groaning in pain. His arms fell loose, releasing Sam. 

“YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE BITCH!” He screamed as Sam frantically rushed towards the stairs. Her feet missed the step and she crashed forwards. Sam frantically grabbed for the banister. 

It was too late. 

Instead her body crumbled over the banister, a searing pain exploding in her stomach. She flailed her hands desperately as her off balanced weight pulled her over. 

-

“We could try the police?”

“No, I’ve told you already, without any more evidence, which we don’t have, they won’t do anything.”

He reached up and ran his hands through his hair. This was difficult. It was almost definitely Tom and they both agreed on that, Sam’s reaction to the situation couldn’t have been clearer, but now they were at a loss at what to do. It was the worst feeling in the world, knowing that at that very moment Sam could be in trouble and he was just sitting at home doing nothing. 

“Are there any social workers at the hospital who might know how to deal with this?”

“I honestly don’t know.” He was too stressed to think straight, his mind racing with thoughts of Sam, his Sam, being hurt by that monster. 

He was interrupted by his phone ringing from his pocket. He answered it hurriedly, it could be Sam. 

“Hello?”

“Hi Dylan, it’s Connie.” He sighed, whatever it was he couldn’t be bothered with it. For all he knew, Connie wanted him to change around his shifts or prepare something for some meeting. He had better things to worry about. 

“Yes, what is it?”

“I’m calling you because you’re down as Sam’s next of kin.”

“Wait, what?” Dylan looked over at his mother, she was also listening in on the conversation and looked just as confused as him. 

“You didn’t know,” Connie’s voice trailed off, “Right…”

Connie’s next words rang through his ears as his worst nightmare became a reality. His mother’s eyes were filled with hurt too. Madilyn grabbed her jacket whilst Dylan dug in his drawer for his car keys. They needed to get to the ED as soon as they could. 

Sam was hurt.


End file.
